Carried Away (5 page)

Blythe was hungry, having eaten only camp food on the journey, and not very much of that, since her stomach had been knotted with fear. She followed Anna willingly. The servant brought her to a large room where the Black Knight sat at an enormous wooden table laden with plates of food and drink. He too had washed away the evidence of their journey, though his eyes betrayed his fatigue. He evidently favoured black clothing. Tunic, leggings, boots—all the same midnight colour as his long hair, blood red the only relief in the slashed sleeves of his doublet. Now three dogs lay at his feet. Only Vormund got up when his master did. The Rottweiler and the greyhound raised their heads and studied her, their tongues lolling. The greyhound yawned.

Her captor took her hand and brushed his lips to the back of it. “Ah, Lady Blythe, I see you’re refreshed.” His English was flawless.

Her nipples tingled and pulsating warmth spiralled between her legs. She would have to stop reacting with such wantonness to his touch. She was a woman of nineteen after all, not a silly girl. She bowed slightly to him, withdrawing her hand quickly. “Thank you for the gowns. I am sure I don’t know how you managed to find clothing to fit so quickly.”

He frowned and seemed uncertain of his answer. Then he smiled his enigmatic smile. “Sit and dine with me. I’m like a starving man after our journey.”

He watched to see if she caught his double meaning, and her blush as she glanced at his arousal told him that she did. How to tell her where he’d procured the dresses? The lighter gown showed off her figure more than her own unattractive garb. Her hips promised fertility. Her breasts were fuller than his dead wife’s, and the fabric strained to contain them. Better not to allow his thoughts to wander in that direction.

His attraction to her puzzled and fascinated him. He should return her to the Imperial court, but for some reason wanted to get to know her. He wasn’t a man who could afford to mire himself in domesticity, nor even in a meaningful relationship. His ambition to serve Duke Lothar left no room for that. He’d endured a hellish marriage to a mad shrew, and had no intention of reliving such a nightmare again. Besides, he had a son. A young noblewoman wouldn’t want to take on the mothering of a child not her own.

He still seethed over the failure of the kidnapping plot, and hoped fervently the Duke would never find out he was involved in the debacle. He didn’t look forward to meeting with his co-conspirators. They would demand explanations he couldn’t give.

Failure didn’t sit well with Count Dieter von Wolfenberg, and he’d lost good men in the fiasco. How to cut his losses? Mayhap his captive was the child of a wealthy family—very likely since she’d been a lady-in-waiting to Matilda. Perhaps there was something to be gained from capturing her after all?

He resolved to put her at ease and garner some useful information at the same time. “Tell me about your family, Lady Blythe.”

She looked away, chewing her bottom lip. “My father is Sir Caedmon FitzRam. My mother is Lady Agneta, daughter of Eidwyn Kirkthwaite, my grandfather who was murdered by Scots and their Saxon allies two years before the battle of Alnwick.”

“Alnwick?”

She related the details of the historic battle between the Scots and the Normans in the year of our Lord One Thousand and Ninety-three that had left the King of Scotland, Malcolm Canmore, dead on the bloodied field. “It’s where my parents met. My mother rescued my father from the battlefield. He’d been wounded.”

Her voice, now she was calmer, held none of the passion that had washed over him when she was afraid. She was guarding her tongue. He offered her a succulent piece of roasted chicken.

“You like dogs,” she said, looking down at the three hounds draped across his feet. “We have dogs at home in Northumbria, but they’re not like these dogs of yours. Ours are mastiffs.”

All three animals abruptly got up, as if they knew they were the subject of current conversation. Dieter stroked the Rottweiler’s head then pummelled the dog’s haunches. “This is L
ö
we, so called because he has the heart of a lion.”

The greyhound nuzzled his master’s hand. “And this is Schnell, because he is as swift as the wind when he chases hares.”

“Will they let me touch them?”

“Perhaps once they get used to you. You told me your father is part Norman, part Saxon?”

She sank her teeth into the meat with relish. Dieter had a sudden urge to jump up and lick the juices from her lips. “Yes,” she replied noncommittally.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she licked the chicken grease off her fingers. He raked his hand through his hair, trying to recall what she’d just said. “Is he titled? What lands does he hold?”

“He’s the Lord of Shelfhoc Hall in the Welsh Marches.”

“But you mentioned a home in the north.”

“Yes, Kirkthwaite Hall. It was destroyed as I mentioned, but rebuilt by my—” She glanced up at him sharply.

She was trying to give away as little as possible. He decided not to push her. “More chicken?”

She nodded and accepted with a smile. “I am very hungry.”

It was the first time he’d seen her do anything but sulk. Her beauty stunned him. Why did she insist on pouting and frowning? Why didn’t she want him to see her loveliness? “How old are you,
liebling
?”

Her face reddened and she straightened her back, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “A gentleman doesn’t ask such questions.”

He’d been right. She didn’t understand the endearment he’d used. “But I am no gentleman.”

She squirmed in her seat. “I am nineteen.”

His mouth fell open, but before he could speak, she rushed on. “I know most young ladies are married by my age, but I wasn’t allowed to marry.”

Dieter frowned. “Why not?”

“I am in service to her majesty.”

Indignation washed over him that such a beauty, made to pleasure a man and bear him sons, had been denied the opportunity. “This seems unfair. Surely you have had many suitors?”

She made a snorting sound. “A lady-in-waiting is considered fair game by many
suitors
, most of whom don’t have noble intentions. They’re aware we cannot marry.”

In a moment of clarity he understood the reasons for her severe hairstyle and pouty face. Here was a desirable woman who’d known only the basest instincts of men since leaving the protection of her family. She’d learned to defend herself and her heart as best she could. “Did you never wish to marry?”

It was a long while before she answered. “If I ever marry, I would wish for an honourable man like my father. He is kind and loving.”

Should he push her? Why did he want to ease the hurts she’d been given, to let her know not all men behaved thus? Why would she trust him—he’d carried her away. “You have never met such a man?”

“No,” she whispered, refusing to look at him.

L
ö
we lumbered to his feet, waddled over to her and laid his muzzle on her lap.

“He likes you!” Dieter exclaimed, wishing he could lay his head on her tempting thighs and gaze up at her as his dog did. He had a curious yearning for that elegant hand to be stroking and petting him.

The long, hot summer dragged on with no sign of an end to Blythe’s captivity. She found it increasingly difficult to be impervious to the Black Knight’s charms. For charming he was, and despite the restrictions and difficulties imposed upon Köln by the blockade of the Rhine, he took Blythe to parts of the ancient city founded by the Romans. A maidservant always accompanied them in the stylish carriage he owned.
He showed her sections of the Roman city wall and water system, which formerly brought fresh spring water to the ancient city from the Eifel region.

“
The name Köln comes from the Roman empress, Agrippina,” he explained to her. “The wife of the Emperor Claudius was born on the banks of the Rhine and elevated her "Colonia" to the status of a city in the Fiftieth Year of Our Lord. The Roman road network is still reflected this very day in the layout of the streets.”

She tried to remain aloof, though she found the old city fascinating and his company exhilarating. His deep, slightly accented voice soothed her. The light touch of his hand on her back as he assisted her into the carriage filled her with inexplicable joy. As she descended, his gentle support of her elbow sent desire coiling through her belly. She adopted a habit of taking deep breaths, feigning a desire for fresh air in her lungs. His clean, masculine scent made her salivate.

But he’d taken her as his prisoner against her will and she was still afraid he intended to sell her. She didn’t want to dwell on who might want to buy her and for what purpose. Surely the Black Knight was not a man to commit such a crime? To be safe, she reasoned that if she made herself unattractive she wouldn’t be worth selling. Her other inspiration was that she should perhaps suggest he ransom her to her family. Her parents must be frantically worried about her and would pay willingly. But what amount would he demand?

She kept her face sullen. “It’s interesting, thank you for showing me.”

***

Determined for reasons beyond his comprehension to draw Blythe out of her self-imposed ugliness of face and demeanour, Dieter took her out more and more frequently. She was an intelligent woman who would be interested in knowing how the Romans brought Christianity to Köln, and how the city very soon became the seat of a bishopric. “In the year of our Lord Seven Hundred and Eighty-Five, Charlemagne himself founded the Archbishopric of Köln and bestowed secular powers upon the church dignitaries. The Archbishop of Köln became one of the most powerful feudal lords in the Holy Roman Empire.”

She inhaled deeply and yawned. “Hmm.”

He was disappointed in her cool demeanour. He was drawn to this woman, had been since their first encounter, but she evidently didn’t feel the same towards him. It was a blow to his male ego. To her he was simply a guide, whereas he longed to strip off her clothes and make love to her on the floor of the carriage. Her scent filled his nostrils, even when he wasn’t with her. She recoiled whenever he touched her, when all he intended was to help her in and out of the carriage. Despite her aloofness, or perhaps because of it, he couldn’t resist increasing the pressure of his hand on her back. He longed to look into those bewitching eyes, but she always avoided his gaze. Having to conceal his seemingly constant arousal from her, and the maidservant, was maddening.

He often watched from the upstairs window as she enjoyed his garden, compelled to spy on her. Then he saw the real Blythe. When she closed her eyes and bent to inhale the fragrance of a flower, his senses reeled. When she beamed a bright smile on his gardener it was all he could do not to run down the stairs and kiss her until she cried for mercy. She seemed to have no feelings for him, and though he was drawn to her like a moth to a candle’s flame, he didn’t want his heart burnt to cinders again. His marital experience had left him scarred in more ways than one. His captive lavished more attention on his hounds than on him. He worried they loved her more than him. They too had fallen under the spell of this enigmatic woman.

Reluctant to alarm her with the progress of plans afoot to rid Köln of the Emperor once and for all, he didn’t confide the extent of his involvement. He spent a lot of time in clandestine meetings with other supporters of Duke Lothar.

He resolved to concentrate on the military campaign, deciding he may as well go ahead with his plan to ransom her to her family.

***

Blythe was aware Dieter hid his actions and political views from her, and suspected his involvement in plans to confront the Emperor. Was it that he didn’t trust her? Or was she simply no threat to him, a non-entity he would soon be rid of?

She learned a few words of German by listening to the servants and other members of the household, but refused to speak German to him, feigning incomprehension. If he judged her dim-witted he wouldn’t sell her.

The weather cooled as autumn stole over the land. She saw her Black Knight less frequently and when she did he was tense, preoccupied. She sensed he was involved in some sort of imminent military action, and feared for his safety. But she couldn’t tell him of her feelings. She convinced herself it was only fear of what would become of her if aught untoward befell him.

***

Something was wrong. Blythe sat bolt upright in her bed, awakened by strident barking. She heard angry voices, urgent shouts. There was a commotion in the garden. Nervously, she approached the window and looked out. The flames of torches danced along the pathways as shadowed figures ran here and there. Soon they congregated in one corner under the apple tree. Peering to see what was happening she caught sight of Vormund. The dog had sunk its teeth into the leg of a man trying to scale the high wall of the garden. He cried out in pain as the dog wrestled him to the ground and clamped its jaws on his arm. Several of the servants surrounded him, two of them holding back the Rottweiler, their hands gripping the dog’s studded collar. Then she saw her Black Knight limping towards the group, sword drawn. Fear gripped her heart. Had he been injured? At a word from him, the dog loosed its grip. The servants dragged the man from the garden.